


Keith delivery shenanigans

by russian_gay_boy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, a lot of swearing, and bad grammar, and lovely illustrations from my cool meme partner, bye, i didn't know how to name this one, i'm not a writer and i don't know how this website works, so expect it to be dumb and rediculous, so i just named it really dumb, there will be a second chapter, this one is for sheith big meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 22:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18600676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russian_gay_boy/pseuds/russian_gay_boy
Summary: Keith works at delievery club, to afford going back to college. He takes longest, busiest shifts to get as much cash as he can, which results in him being very tired and angry. One day, at the very end of 12 hour shift, when he’s chilling near the worst fast food place in the whole world — he receives an order from  from a guy who signed himself Ass Tronaut, and who, apparently, loves eating garbage, since he ordered it late at night. Ass Tronaut. What a nerd.





	Keith delivery shenanigans

Kith takes his backpack off and carefully puts it on the porch next to where he’s going to sit down. He would lose half of his month salary if something happen to the damn thing. He leans back, closes his eyes and allows himself to relax. That was probably the last one for today. It’s dangerous to think that, or to relax like this.Every time he does this at the end of his shift something dumb and random happens. He wraps his arm around both backpack straps and crosses his hands on his chest, just in case some idiot thinks he can attempt to steal it. It already happened before and Keith wasn’t keen of the idea of beating the crap out of somebody at the end of his shift. He was just tired.

  
It’s been almost half a year since he got into this job, and it’s been a nightmare so far. He used to think that being a barista at a shitty coffeshop near campus was bad. He was wrong. Exams, group projects and small tips were horrible sure, but as with pretty much anything in his life — there was always a next level to how bad things could be.

Evenings like this, he really missed it. The whole thing. Even his horrible dorm neighbours. He’s gotten used to those bastards, even liked them a bit. Now, that he’s been away and nobody is cooking for them and doing their homework for a reasonable price they’ve probably either got food poisoning, or got expelled. Or maybe a new guy moved in and replaced him. Come to think of it, he didn’t know when they were going to finish their programs, so maybe even if he got to at least live on the same block he wouldn’t see them again. It was sad, for no clear reason. Keith wasn’t expecting to feel sad or develop any attachments to whatever happened between him and his college life, was planning to do the “whatever happens there, stays there” thing. But I didn’t work out. Feeling miserable wasn’t rare, but he still didn’t like it. He’s already been miserable for most of his life, so it was hard to appreciate any extra misery that went his way.

At least he’s almost done with this job. It’s been five months, counting in some unnecessary purchases and randomness of courier income, it was probably just two more. And then he could go back to dirty dorm-rooms and third-hand schoolbooks. Maybe they will even accept him back at the old job. It stunk like coffee and was stressful, but at it’s worst never was as exhausting.

He can’t picture his future. Doesn’t know what to do with it. All the time he’s going to live after he’s done with this job and with college, just doesn’t exist in his head. Saving up and leaving foster house early to get a mechanic education seemed okay, so he did it. Going to college seemed okay, so he did it too. It was occasionally fun, and maybe that’s just how life was supposed to be. A bit morbid, a bit fun, and a bit just doing whatever doesn’t feel like shit. Keith would’ve loved to tell himself he’s going to miraculously get some friends, build a tiny house and spend all his time at scrap yards searching for cool salvage with his dog, riding a handmade custom bike, living the dream. But he knew he was wasted and at best would’ve only managed only one or two thigs from the list, friends definitely not being one of them. Probably wouldn’t afford to build a house or support a dog. Bike was hard, but doable. Dreaming about having a bike was pointless, it was too real. He wouldn’t dare to dream to have friends, or something even more intimate, maybe not today. So he tried to imagine what it’s like to have a house and a dog.

It was amazing. Sometime in the middle of his imaginary dream day when he was chilling outside of his house in a field under the tree with a stupid cartoony picnic basket and his dog chilling next to him, he heard a loud beep, dragging him out of the sweet release of fantasy, to a cruel real world of being a courier and having to work late to go back to college.

Phone battery was at 30%, and work app was informing him that someone ordered something from mcdonalds. Lucky for Keith, this time GPS didn’t decide to flip him over and the order was supposed to be picked up at the same cursed mcdonalds he was sitting next to. He decided to check the app, see the number of order and the address.  
Order was: three big macs, five large fries and two milkshakes, recieved at 23:47.  
Keith wasn’t going to complain, he doesn’t have a car and he's going to be home late anyways. It drove him crazy and made him hate the basic fact of his existence in the morning, but it wasn’t a morning right now. Besides, late delieveries = small extra pay and possibly tips, so he got himself as together as he could, grabbed the order, followed by the only two cashiers who remained working giggling at him for no reason. Keith decided to check the contains of his backpack, just in case. Three big macs, five large fries and two milkshakes, just like the app said. He stared at the screen blankly. Something was wrong, but his mushy tired brain wasn’t picking it up. He put the phone in his pocket and stepped out. Keith didn’t know why it haunted him but he decided to check again. Order was okay. Order’s section in the app was okay. Nothing special. Address, order, estimated delivery time, name, no extra requests,. Why were they laughing at him? Maybe it wasn’t him, maybe he’s just paranoid. He went over the section again, and it struck him. He was supposed to deliver the food to somebody, who’s name was Ass Tronaut. Ass Tronaut. What the fuck.

This was probably meant to be funny. And it really would’ve been, if it took place about 6 hours earlier, when Keith wasn’t tired enough to be able to experience positive emotions from human interactions. The walk was quiet, filled with angry confused guesses about Ass Tronaut’s personality and not as long as it seemed to be from the map. He was by the guy's apartment at 0:00 sharp and he mostly wasn’t complaining about it.

Five minutes go by, the Ass Tronaut is nowhere to be seen. Annoying, but not uncommon. In retrospect out of all people who were too lazy to get their own food, Keith liked those who peached up a bit before opening the door to him more then those who didn’t. Maybe Ass Tronaut is just taking some sweet time to change from ugly sweaty home-exclusive shirt to something less sweaty. That would’ve been absolutely irrelevant in terms of productivity, but personally, very appreciated. There were times, when Keith thought he didn’t care what his clients wore, but it was in the past.

After five more minutes he decided to contact the space nerd. Ten minutes are estimated wait time after which nobody is responsible for the food anymore. But hey, the order is big, the time is very late, maybe there would even be some tips, not to mention extra pay for the holdup. He tries to call the customer like a good employee, but there is no reception on the other end. He comes up to the door, to find out there is no doorbell. He calls again. No luck. He knocks 4 times, there’s no response. There’s no “Im coming” or “Wait a bit”. There’s in fact, no noises from behind a door at all.

20 minutes pass, time to check the phone. It’s 0:40. No calls, no messages, 7% of battery. Keith is too tired to fully comprehend how it happeden and how catastrophic it is for him. His shift is over. He always wanted be a good kind of guy, even though it gets tedious sometimes. Five more minutes, maybe even 7, if he’s really feeling like getting good karma. One message to a manager, quick check on available shifts, battery goes to 3%. Shit.

He tries to relax and get his mind off of it. Put your phone on energy-saving mode, this is going to pay off, it has to. Keith turns to look over the railing. Air is filled with nice smell of fallen leaves, clean and appealing apartment block is decently lit, dim colorful bushes getting brighter near the lamp posts that frame gravel paths with elegant benches here and there buildings. Cold, fresh autumn wind making the leaves dance and rustle pleasantly. All of this subtle beauty for him to witness, and none of it helps the slightest. If anything, it only makes things worse.

Who in this goddamn expensive get-off-my-block apartment complex would even get an idea to eat McDonalds, out of all better choices, at 23:47? More specifically, who would order this much of the same horrid, overpriced garbage and then just forget about it? Do people with such oblivious lack of cognitive skills even get to the point in their life when they can afford such apartments? If, somehow, they do, how the hell do they do it, and why he can’t? Feeling bitter about people with lack of cognitive skills Keith decides to check the food. Is it okay in there, maybe it got messed up when he was running to get the late bus? Is it still presentable? Presentable, of course, means warm and mostly in the general shape of burgers and fries with a milkshake inside the cup, not squished all over the place, as it sometimes is. Better make sure. Immediately, upon opening the backpack, he regretted it.

Food was presentable. Still acceptably warm despite the wait time, and it was probably absolute garbage, because it’s McDonalds, of course it would be, and it smelled so delicious after of running around with a heavy backpack all day, not being able to rest or sit down to eat anything that wasn’t a protein bar. He would’ve ate all of it, if the guy wouldn’t show up. Couriers are free do that when wait time runs out, it’s completely normal. Keith closed his backpack in a hurry and aggressively shook his head. Checking on food was a mistake, but at least it took some time.

Zipping the uniform up to neck and wishing he put on an old sweater instead of his cooler hoodie, he reached out for his phone. It’s fucking 0:52. He could already be on his way home. Keith, he tells himself, don't be stupid. Ass Tronaut, whoever the fuck they are, isn’t going to show up. Feeling guilty Keith finds a closest, least breezy place to sit and opens his bag with a sigh. He didn’t want to do it. It’s not his fault. It’s been 50 minutes, and he’s tired and hungry, and it’s not his goddamn fault. On the first bite of a barely warm trash, that McDonalds is trying to sell as food, the guilt starts to back up. When you order food, Keith continues the train of thought, pay for it online, and someone has to bring it to your doorstep without you moving your lazy ass from the couch, you have to just get to the door to receive it. Couriers don't have all the time in the world, they too need to move on with their business. There’s nothing special or hard to it – sign the papers, rate the service on the app if you want and that’s it. So simple, yet some people still manage to fuck it up.

Trying to eat more than one same fast food item always made it taste like plastic, so Keith puts second burger aside and grabs some fries. Fries are kind of like receiving food – relatively hard to fuck up, but certain companies somehow manage to. Drinking milkshake on a chilly autumn night, while being outside probably wouldn’t have been a good choice on any other day, but today he already ran out of better choices. It’s cold. Outside is cold. Inside is now also cold. But it tastes alright, so Keith tries not to regret it too much. He leans to a wall and picks up a cold, plastic-y burger he took a bite out of earlier to finish what he started, head home full and just go to bed. At least he has his breakfast figured out. Hopefully, he will manage to get out of bed when the first alarm rings. Hopefully, he won’t be late again.

Sometime in the middle of a burger, Keith hears a dull, doorknob click, and a slow creak, signaling that the door is open somewhere near him. His soul sinks to his toes. He turns away from the bushes and elegant benches, to an increasing strip of light to his right. Maybe someone wants to take the trash out at 1 am. Maybe they had unexpected call from friends and they have to go somewhere to help. It’s been more than an hour, it couldn’t have been for him.

A man peeks out of the doorframe and looks at Keith. Fuck. He’s not taking the trash out, and he’s definitely not in a hurry. Keith is paralyzed with panic. In the dark he can only see so much, but what he sees is too much already. A man is tall. A man is broad. And he’s looking Keith right in his eyes, probably in a mild disbelief. There’s an awkward silence. Even the leaves are not rustling anymore. Someone has to say something. Keith’s palms are sweaty. He gulps half-cued bite of burger down uncomfortably. A man makes a hesitant step in his direction.

Close up, a man is illegally beautiful. He’s got silver hair, with a single pointy turf of bangs, and extremely short cut rest. Tight white tank top, that could’ve been at least one size bigger, but for whatever reason it isn’t. Even in the distant light of the door Keith can tell he’s got a six pack and really thick thighs, shamelessly pocking out of bright red shorts, with a white stripe on the side. Maybe thighs-exclusive night vision is a gay superpower or something. Say something, Keith thinks to himself, anything at all. Anything he could possibly say is rigged from the start. “Hello, I’m your delivery club courier”? Would’ve been ok if he wasn’t eating the man’s order. “Hey handsome”? Would’ve been ok if he wasn’t on the job, or at least was half as stunning as the man. “It’s all your fault” was one of the weirder ones. “It’s all your fault” would’ve never been okay, but it felt the rightest of all the things that came to mind.

— It’s all your fault. – Keith says defensively, before he processes it fully.

The regret is immediate. His face feels hot and he barely stops himself from covering it with greasy, salty fry hand. Why did he say that? It’s rude and uncalled for. In what position is he, a courier, to say that to his client? He could’ve left the food by the door, he could’ve knocked harder, he could’ve at least called the manager to have a witness on his side. He should’ve done all of those things, in fact. Why didn’t he leave the block to eat the damn burgers? Any of it would’ve been better to do than what he actually did. Rude. Stupid. Rude stupid Keith and his rude stupid shenanigans.

A man slightly turned his head. His eyebrows raised, as if he’s only now caught up with the despicable violation of work code Keith committed. He raised his hand, coved his mouth, and started laughing as quietly as he cold. He shook with husky, quiet laughter and, despite putting visible efforts, was unable to stop. It felt like being called out by a teacher in front of the whole class again. A good old round of pure humiliation. But it was also kind of hot? Fuck.

Keith wishes a car hit him. Or the McDonals was closed accidentally. He would’ve never got here, would’ve never ended up eating a garbage burger and would’ve never ended up feeling so stupid over fucking up one of the least complicated jobs on the planet. He would've never ended up sitting on the flor eating garbage food like a gremlin in fron of a man so hot that his voice alone gave Keith goosebumps. 

— Hey. – A beautiful man says with unbearably attractive voice, grabbing attention of last brain cell Keith had, that didn’t jump out of the window. – Do you have any of those left?

**Author's Note:**

> turns i could've made some notes in the end. oh well :T  
> if i made any mistakes — let me know. there's no active social media to link, so there isn't anything else for me to say here. thanks for reading all of that and have a good day ♥


End file.
